


Harry and the Beast

by mitsukai613



Series: Harry Dresden in fairy tales [5]
Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry has to sing, It's so Disney!, M/M, More plot, Too much plot has been made in this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next entry in the Harry in Fairytales series, Beauty and the Beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry and the Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a little (or a lot) more Disneyfied than the others I did in this series, mostly because I have an unnatural love for some of the songs in that particular movie. Anyway, this is one of my own personal favorite fairytales, so I hope I did alright and you guys enjoy! Also, more apologies for the length; I'd have normally split this into two chapters but I couldn't really find a good place to divide it.

                This is probably going to sound kind of strange, given my profession, but I’d never actually seen a person, a real life, totally human _person_ get shot before that day. I know, I know, even after all the time I’d spent with Murphy, all the cases I’d worked with her, both supernatural and not, and I’d never seen a bullet pass through human flesh until just then. It wasn’t even Murphy who pulled it; it was Marcone.

                As for my explanation on that, well, I know I’ve only just stopped avoiding him as if he carried the plague, but he’s a good resource, especially with things regarding the case I had. I hadn’t had knowledge, and he’d only agreed to give it to me if I allowed him to come along. I hadn’t thought it would end up like it had; I’d seen Marcone do a lot of things, but I’d never seen him kill someone. I mean, yeah, I knew he did it, I knew he had blood on his hands, but I hadn’t… I’d never watched him attempt to gain more.

                We’d barged in on a ritual, some new egotistical warlock who was perfectly certain that he was perfectly perfect, that his ritual to give himself a power-up was unstoppable. I’d tried to explain. I’d kept Marcone behind me and I’d tried to explain, tried to tell him that when the Council came he wouldn’t have a choice, a choice to stop, a choice to live, but he wouldn’t _listen_ to me. He’d thought I wanted to perform the ritual myself, as if I wasn’t strong enough already. He’d said that my blood would serve him well and that was when Marcone drew the gun; I felt the cold steel press against my back for a split second as he took it from his jacket. I stepped forward, closer to him and his circle, and I kept my hands in front of me, clenched into fists so he wouldn’t think I was trying for a spell. He shifted warily from foot to foot, he was scared, but he was letting me closer, and I didn’t see the knife until I was already too close to run.

                His hands shot out like lighting, one of them wrapping around my chest and the other settling a sharp ritual blade over my throat. He’d been planning on using animal blood, I knew that, I saw the sheep tied a few feet away, but I guessed he really had changed his mind. I couldn’t blame him; human blood, my blood, would make him stronger. Not strong enough to face the Council, and I tried to tell him that, but the blade stayed where it was even though his hands were shaking. If things kept up as they were, he’d slit my throat entirely by accident, and that would just be embarrassing.

                “Get out!” he yelled, and I assumed he was speaking to Marcone, “Get out or I’ll kill him!” Yeah, definitely talking to Marcone. I yawned and did my damndest to look nonchalant, as if people held knives to my neck every day. Of course, that was getting closer and closer to being accurate, sadly enough. Anyway. His hand finally wavered enough to draw a single drop of my blood. It felt hot where it trickled down my neck and finally made itself a nice new home in the fabric of my shirt. I remember I was thankful that I hadn’t been optimistic enough to wear white that day. I felt Marcone’s eyes tracing the drop, and his gun was held expertly. That was the moment I realized that it was because he’d had _practice._

                “Come on, Marcone, listen to him and go. I’ll be alright, just go. Out, out, shoo fly.” I made a little waving off motion with my hands even though my upper arms were pinned to my sides by his arm. He shifted and drew another drop of blood. Marcone’s eyes followed that one too. I swallowed and when my Adam’s apple bobbed the knife felt suddenly a lot sharper than it had seconds before. Marcone wasn’t leaving.

                “Listen to him and go! I can kill him faster than you can shoot me, go!” Marcone raised the gun higher. He was getting a shot. Hell’s Bells. Okay. I had to… I didn’t have a choice; the poor fuck was less likely to die from this than a bullet. I twisted one of my arms around (painfully, might I add) to press against his stomach and whispered out a soft wind spell. He went flying away from me just as the gun went off. The crack sounded like a sonic boom in the silence, and a bullet that would have hit his head struck his bicep and he screamed. He was lucky that he could scream at all. Marcone had been trying to kill him. Marcone had weighed his options, gotten enough little tick marks inside his head beside this guy’s name, and had decided to end his life. Right then, right there. I was willing to bet that there weren’t many people who kept on breathing after Marcone made a decision like that. His eyes were still fixed on me as I whipped around to the man, and he was at my side with shocking speed, his hand on my arm.

                “Harry, are you alright? He cut you, are you bleeding too badly?” The man was moaning in pain, and I gaped at Marcone.

                “They’re just scratches, Marcone. That guy has a fucking bullet in his arm! What the hell is wrong with you?” I jerked my arm from him and marched over to the fallen Warlock, shrugged off my duster, tugged off my shirt, and ripped it to make a makeshift bandage to wrap around his wound. I tied it tightly enough and pressed down hard enough that I was at least able to stop the bleeding. Murphy was going to kill me when she heard about this, and probably Marcone too. She’d likely try to charge him, I knew that as well, but I also knew it wouldn’t stick. His lawyers would cry self-defense faster than she could blink. He took my arm again.

                “Harry, you’re still bleeding, don’t bother with him when-“ I snarled.

                “You shot him, bastard! He was going to use animals, and if you’d have just left I could’ve stopped him from using anything!”

                “I don’t make it a habit to leave those I care for alone with a madman who has a knife held on them!” He was getting angry, frustrated with me. Good. I wanted him upset because that meant I was getting to him. I was affecting him, bothering him; I was making him feel like me. It’s hard to stay angry with him when he just shows me that cool façade, but if he gets angry too… I can stay that way, I can mull and brood and pick at him to piss him off even more.

                “Why are you helping me?” the man questioned, and I offered him a small smile.

                “You’re human.” Marcone must’ve seen it before I did, what he was doing, but I don’t know how. He tried to pull me away but I didn’t want him to touch me. He’d almost killed a man, a man who was little threat, a man who probably didn’t even deserve it, and he wouldn’t have regretted it. It would’ve been nothing to him, that bullet, he could have walked away and slept like a baby. He’d have murdered a man in cold blood and he wouldn’t have cared and that was upsetting me, it was bothering me, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I knew that was stupid but I didn’t care just then.

                “You’re an idiot,” he hissed, and suddenly I felt a spell slam into my stomach and also saw some of it strike the lower part of Marcone’s chest. He wrapped his arms tight around me as we fell and he landed on the bottom. As the world drifted off on a sea of darkness I felt a sudden joy that he was with me, that he was here, that he had his arms around me, and I didn’t know why because I was angry, because he was a lesser evil, but he’d proven to me today that he was still evil. He was also warm, and that was the last coherent thought I managed.

* * *

 

                The bed I awoke in this time felt like my own, a little hard and about a half of a foot too short, but when I opened my eyes I recognized easily that it wasn’t my room. It looked, as a matter of fact, quite a lot like the room I’d awoken in for my Little Red dream, solid wood, clean, maybe a little sparse. Once more I couldn’t quite be sure of what dream this was, but it didn’t seem as if any wicked stepmothers were coming to wake me up, so I assumed that I’d just have to get up and figure it out for myself. I opened up the wardrobe across the room and found a blue dress and a white apron. I’d have guessed I was going to wonderland if not for the fact that I’d already been there, but then I remembered another fairytale where the protagonist had worn a dress like that; Beauty and the Beast. How oddly relevant. Stupid I.D./malevolent entity.

                I sighed and dressed without complaint because damn it, despite what people say I can learn. At least this one was comfortable. There were no stockings, and the shoes I found for myself were soft, broken in flats instead of patent leather high heeled nightmares. Stars, I was even feeling generous enough that I made use of the big blue ribbon on the dresser for my hair, which was, admittedly, getting a little long.  Still, nothing happened, and I tried to remember the story. Was this going to be the original or that Disney movie version? I mean, I kind of needed to know because there were some pretty decent differences and I just wanted to get through this shit as painlessly as possible and go home. I sighed. Was this even the optimal time for this shit? I mean, I had just been knocked unconscious by a Warlock who could theoretically do whatever the hell he wanted with me whilst I was in that state. I needed to wake up. I attempted to pinch myself. It didn’t work. Obviously.

                Nothing continued to happen at a very rapid rate, and so I finally left the little cottage I apparently lived in with a basket filled with a book on my arm and walked outside. That was when I heard it, soft piano notes accented by the twittering of birds. No. No, no, no. Fuck that. Fuck everything about that. I was literally in a fucking Disney movie and it wanted me to sing. No. The music got steadily more insistent, as if prodding me. Oh, Hell’s Bells. I didn’t… I had to, didn’t I? So, I get used to the dresses (god help me) and therefore I must sing. Someone out there really hates me. And I didn’t even remember the words. I’m just warning you about that now, because what I sang was, I’m pretty sure, worlds away from what I was supposed to sing.

                “Fucking town, I don’t even get this! Why do I have… to be heeeeeere? Fucking town, now all these people are going to think… I’m a giiiiiiiiiiiirl!” My particular brand of screeching cat was apparently pleasant to the morons who lived in my dream village, most likely because it was my dream village, and so they started up their own part of the song as I wandered off to the library, meaning they just yelled bonjour and called me weird and eccentric yet confusingly attractive a lot. It was sort of annoying and I wondered if Belle had had to wake up to that every morning. If so, I could sort of understand why she wanted more than her poor provincial life because I’d have probably exploded the whole place by the third morning. Maybe the fourth, if I was in a good mood.

                Anyway, I finally made it to the little bookshop and the tiny man inside, who I recognized as Eb after a few moments, greeted me as Belle. I didn’t question it because I’ve obviously gotten bored of questioning things and it’s a lot easier for my sanity if I don’t.

                “Hi there. I wanted to return this book. Any others around here?” I checked the title and found it to be one that I really knew, one that resided on my own bookshelf. Come to think of it, all the books I saw in here resided on my own bookshelf. Well, that was a nice personal touch, I guess. Ebenezer rolled his eyes.

                “Well, there’s nothing new, Hoss. You were just here yesterday. Take an old standby, I suppose. I’ve got your favorites on that shelf there.” I saw a worn blue cover that I knew well and snatched it down, somehow happy even though it wasn’t real. I guess it was just a piece of home in a strange world. “You take that one all the time. Why don’t you keep it?” I grinned.

                “Thanks, Eb,” I told him and he laughed, low and drawling like his speech (weren’t we in France?) and shooed me out because apparently he had customers that actually gave him money. I guessed they were invisible. Anyway, I left and, after much thought, I recalled mostly what the next part of the song was supposed to sound like, so I wandered into the town square where a fountain and a bunch of sheep were the main attraction. The townsfolk continued to call me synonyms for weird as I cleared my throat and prepared to sing to the sheep sitting beside me. They might’ve been on to something about that weird thing, but Belle did it too, and if anyone asks I’m just trying to be authentic. “Heeeey, isn’t this so cooool? It’s my favorite part because this warrior stabs that ogre right in the aaaaaaass! Aaand then he kicks him in the baaaalls, but he’ll regret that, you’ll seeeee!” I continued to sound as if Mister and I were competing for territory. The sheep seemed to take offense because it tried to bite me, meaning that the sheep was the only one in this town with working hearing.

                I read for a few more moments but my sheep audience left, so I was pretty quick to stand up and wander off again, at which point I was told yet again that I was very different from the rest of the town, since Disney really likes to drive its morals and plot points home, and was eventually accosted by two people that actually, deeply, legitimately, scared me. One, dressed up in brilliant red with an old school musket in his hands, was Ferrovax, and the other, a smaller figure I recognized despite the fact that his face was shielded by a wide brimmed brown hat instead of a black hood, was Cowl. I stepped back from them and clutched the book tightly, as if it were a lifeline. Ferrovax snatched it and tossed it in the mud. I gaped.

                “Fool of a girl, wasting your life like that,” he told me, and his pointer finger slid under my chin to lift up my face. He looked just like he had at Bianca’s party, as beautiful as one of the Sidhe but infinitely stronger. He was a primal force, in the real world, nearly impossible to kill simply for his age and his experience. He was smart and he was dangerous and his smile was sly and cool. I kept imagining that he had a cigarette even though he didn’t because they looked so natural in his hand. I smirked and jerked my head away, then bent down to get the book. I managed to get the worst of the mud off and guessed that I was just lucky it hadn’t gotten on any of the pages. I still had to wonder why I cared when I knew this wasn’t real.

                “How am I wasting my life, asshole?” He looked shocked. I saw Cowl’s lips move for the first time as he laughed. I yawned, surprised to find that I was legitimately tired despite this being a dream. Ferrovax gathered himself quickly and cleared his throat.

                “Reading, sweet. Thinking, creating all those silly little ideas. Avoiding men, me specifically, as if we are a plague. It’s strange of you, the whole town sees it, how you bury your head in those silly tales when you should be thinking of marriage; it’s not right for a woman to read anyway, you know. How do you expect to have children, a family, a life of your own if you act this way? Truly you’re lucky to have such a pretty face. I’d never, no man would ever, pursue you if you did not. Your personality is awful.” I raised my eyebrows and huffed.

                “I don’t want to be a housewife, especially not yours. I’m smarter than you, so I don’t see much point in playing your doting lady friend. Now, I’ll catch you later; go pin one of those mooning girls over there to a wall or something. I’m sure they’d appreciate it.” Cowl continued to snicker and Ferrovax cuffed him over the head. You don’t understand how surreal this was, by the way; these were two of the most dangerous beings I’d ever met and they were acting like we were in an episode of the Three Stooges. It was at that point that my cottage suffered from a relatively small, minor explosion. Yes, I have indeed seen enough explosions that I’m qualified to make the distinction between a minor one and a severe one now. No, I don’t find that sad. Ahem. Cowl continued to laugh as I turned.

                “Look, she finds even the company of her mad father superior to yours!”

                “Be silent,” Ferrovax snarled. I felt unusually offended. It’d been a long time since I’d seen my father, but I’d loved him. He’d been a good man, not insane despite all his free shows, and he was amazing, one of the best, at what he did. I respected him, I cared for him, and I admired him for all I’d hardly known him. 

                “Don’t talk about my father as if you know him,” I hissed as I stomped off, and I heard Ferrovax attempting to make what he’d said better, to appease me, all to the soundtrack of Cowl’s laughter, but I ignored it and marched back into the cottage.

                When I got inside I discovered that the explosion I’d seen had apparently been the result of a primitive smoke bomb, and my dad was coughing from his place on the floor. I had to snort as I bent to help him stand, and he offered me a grin that matched my own almost painfully well. It hurt to see him but I was grateful for it all the same; maybe sometimes these dreams could be kind. Just not often. I enveloped him in a tight hug and he returned it confusedly.

                “What’s going on?” I asked him, and he huffed.

                “A new trick; the sleight of hand is fine, but this thing simply produces far too much smoke!” I eyed the plumes of it still pouring out from the cellar into the wide open air and was pretty sure that my father had a penchant for understatement. I blinked.

                “Uh huh.” He smiled again and I watched as he fiddled with another one, pulled something out, put something else in. I remembered this scene, except before it had always happened in hotel rooms. I wanted to hug him again and I felt my eyes get a little wet and hazy, but I didn’t cry. I realized suddenly that my dad was probably at least a foot shorter than me, realized that I could probably pick him up and swing him around, but that would be silly. I wondered if normal boys ever got to feel this way with their fathers. He tossed another bomb down and it worked perfectly. I clapped for him and he laughed and bowed. The smile lines were still obvious around his eyes and his mouth, just like I remembered. He’d always laughed a lot.

                “Have you thought more about taking up Mr. Ferro on his offers to marry you, honey?” he asked me distractedly as he worked on making more of the little bombs, and I heaved a sigh.

                “He’s an ass; I like this book and he tried to fuck it up, plus he’d spend half of any conversation we had staring into a mirror because he’s way prettier to look at than me.” My dad actually choked on his laugh and nearly set off one that was incomplete.

                “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone you care more for later, perhaps in another village. You’ve never quite fit in here.” I shrugged and rolled my eyes because by the end of this I was just going to end up with Marcone like always. It was getting a little repetitive, really. Couldn’t my malevolent entity mix it up a little? Like maybe make me the Prince Charming for once? It’d be nice, for a change, to get to be super suave and sweep some pretty girl off of her feet. I suddenly had a weird image of Marcone and I having to switch places in these dreams and doubled over with laughter at the thought of him in a dress. Would a dress even fit him? Probably not, his chest was too broad. No, I’m not going to examine what that says about me, by the way.

                “Maybe, I don’t know. Maybe I can just stay single.” Dad hummed and continued his work. Finally he got enough done, though, and started preparing to leave.  

                “I’m certain that the children will simply love this new act! Will you be coming with me, dear?” I was pretty sure that I wasn’t supposed to, so I shook my head. “Ah, how silly of me to ask! You’ve chores to do around the farm, don’t you?” I nodded as if I knew, and he pulled me against him for another hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered and I hardly heard it, didn’t think it sounded like it fit with the rest of the dialogue, but it made me happy nonetheless. The smile on my face as he gathered his bag of tricks and walked out was, in fact, so large that it made my cheeks ache.      

* * *

 

                I was glad I’d gotten to pick the book up not ten minutes later; fairytales required way too much waiting in between, especially if the action is supposed to be focused elsewhere. I had to sit around doing nothing but eating bread (which was probably awful for my dream self’s apparent womanly figure) and reading, but the next day, early in the morning, I heard loud music that made me fear that I’d have to sing again and then a crash as Ferrovax told someone to be quiet. In a very loud voice, might I add. I assumed that he just thought I was both deaf and stupid because he knocked at my door as if there was no way I could have heard that.

                “Who is it?” I trilled in the most annoying, sarcastic way I could possibly manage, which was pretty annoying and sarcastic since I practice that with a tape recorder sometimes. Sarcasm was above Ferrovax, though, because he told me his identity before I opened up the door and saw him leaning there in the top of a very nice suit and some very ill-advised white leggings. I was actually thankful for the dress, just then. He barged inside and I resisted the urge to tell him to come inside because I attempt to avoid being quite that cliché.

                “Well, please come in.” I don’t usually manage to resist it all that well. He didn’t seem to get that bad joke either because he just made himself at home at my table (was it actually mine if I was dreaming?) and got more mud on my damned book. Had it been real life I’d have probably killed him by that point, ancient dragon or no ancient dragon. One does not fuck with a Wizard’s books and expect to continue breathing.

                “I’ve come to make an honest woman of you,” he said clearly, as if expecting me to swoon.

                “I’d rather not.” We then proceeded to have a standoff of wills wherein he mentally suggested that I rip my dress off and I mentally suggested that he put on a dunce hat, paint himself orange, and leap off of the highest cliff he could find. Our battle was a draw, meaning neither of these things happened and we just sort of stared at each other for a while.

                “What you’d rather doesn’t matter. Can’t you picture it, our home? Our strong young boys? Yourself, at my beck and call, my little wife?” As he said this he stood and began backing me into the door, and not for the first time I wished for my magic in these dreams. I just barely managed to not point out that it was anatomically impossible for me to be his little wife and have his sons because I figured he wouldn’t care. My chest almost hurt where he was pressed against it, too much strength packed up in too small of a space. My heart thudded a little too fast in my chest and he licked his lips, his eyes bright and lusty and wild and I felt a strange nervousness build in me. He leaned in for a kiss as I turned my head and managed to grab the doorknob.

                “Go try a princess, Ferrovax,” I said as I slid out of his grasp, opened the door, and shoved him out. The nice thing about me not having my powers was that no one else did either, because had I pulled something like that with the real Ferrovax, he’d have killed me before I could blink. Dragons don’t generally appreciate being embarrassed. I once again cleaned my book off and plopped down to wait until they did. Once they were gone I stood up and slid outside. Music started up again as I wandered off towards a field, but I steadfastly ignored it because I really didn’t want to sing anymore. My life was not a musical and I would not allow it to be one. I wondered if any of the dream people noticed the music when it played or if I was just hearing things. It got louder and more insistent the further I went, but I stayed strong against singing anymore even as it reached a staggering, nearly painful crescendo. The horse, when it came running up to me, was a saving grace as it made the thrice damned noise stop. I didn’t even care that I was about to ride it into the arms of dream Marcone in beast form as I leapt onto its back simply because of that. I did, however, quickly start to care again once I realized just how awkward it is to ride a horse in a dress.

                The horse stopped in front of a menacing castle, its spires reaching up endlessly high into the clouds, its brickwork dark and stained nearly black. The gate creaked when I opened and yeah, I was actually a little bit unnerved. All I needed to make the creepy factor complete was some lightning. I walked up to the door and saw carvings in it that made me gasp, carvings of… of Chicago. My own apartment and Marcone’s own office were among them. I touched them, my mouth agape, as I opened the door. I’d never seen anything in these dream worlds that related back to the real one, beyond the people, and to see such a thing was just wrong, somehow. It made these dreams seem more connected to my real life, and I didn’t like that. I shut the castle door behind me as I stepped inside.

                “Yoo-hoo! Hello, anybody home? I’m looking for my dad, he ignored our horse and went down the obviously doom-ridden wolf filled creepy terrible monstrous path instead of the one filled with sunshine and rainbows that was right beside it! Has anyone here seen him?” I heard whispering around me, terribly familiar whispering, that I identified as Thomas and Hendricks. Obviously Belle was completely deaf, by the way. All these sounds she missed have to confirm it. Still, I’m meant to be acting like that poor deaf girl, so I didn’t acknowledge the voices. Instead I started climbing a flight of stairs and went deeper into the castle I’d soon be a prisoner in. The whispers, which sounded suspiciously like bickering, followed me until I reached a tower pilled with prison cells, at which point they went silent so that I could hear my dad cough. I ran to the door he was held behind and crouched. He grabbed my hand and turned wild eyes to my face.

                “Leave, Harry, my Belle, leave! You don’t understand what lives here, I couldn’t stand to see you hurt,” he babbled, and I shook my head.

                “I’ll leave with you or I won’t leave,” I said, and a hand grabbed my shoulder and shoved me to the stone floor.

                “I suppose you won’t be leaving then. He is my prisoner,” I heard Marcone’s voice and felt the anger I’d felt at him before, in the real world, rise in me again even though I knew that none of this was this fake Marcone’s fault. Still, he was a safe person to take out my anger on. He couldn’t really do anything to me. Besides, I had to keep with the story, right?

                “And who are you to think that you can keep him prisoner? Look at him, he was out in the wet and he’s getting sick. You’re not the boss of me, I’ll take him home if I want,” I growled as best I could, although I’m not the best at growling. Murphy says it makes me sound like a kitten when I try.

                “I am the master of this castle,” he said, but instead of castle I heard city. It made me even angrier, honestly. I reached up and clutched my father’s hand again as I pulled myself back up to a sitting position.

                “That doesn’t mean anything. Let me take him home.”

                “No. If he did not want to be trapped here then he should not have trespassed.”

                “It’s raining and he got lost!” I never thought I’d be the one having to make logical appeals to Marcone. It freaked me out, seeing him be irrational like this, but that made it no more difficult to stay angry at him.

                “How awful for him.” I lashed out and landed a solid punch to his knee, but he didn’t fall. As a matter of fact, I barely heard him hiss out his pain. It still made me feel better, though.

                “Just let him go. If you need a prisoner that badly then take me. I’ll last longer anyway, I’m not sick.”

                “No!” my father yelled, clutched me tighter, but I ignored him. I saw confusion in Marcone’s shadowed green eyes, the only part of him I could see clearly, and I’d felt only cloth when I hit his knee.

                “You would do something so feckless?” I shrugged.

                “Feckless is my middle name, bastard. Come into the light first, though; I like to get a good look at the things that are keeping me prisoner.” He did so slowly, warily, almost ashamed. He was massive, like that, covered in a thick coat of dark fur that was turning silver in places. Horns curled back from his head and teeth protruded from his mouth and his hands and feet were animalistic, marked with thick, dark claws, but his eyes were the same shade of money green. I had never thought I’d see him like that, even in this dream, and the shock of it made me gasp a little. He scoffed.

                “You see what you promised? Leave.” I set my jaw and shook my head, got even angrier that he thought I was that childish, dropped my father’s hand, and stood.

                “No. I’m taking his place.” He went wide eyed; apparently free here to be as expressive as he wanted. I noticed that he was also taller than me this way, and that was unnerving. He settled one gigantic paw on my chest and pushed me into the wall.

                “Really? Then tell me you’ll stay forever. Tell me that, and I’ll let him go.” I did, and it was at that moment that he ripped the door open and I watched my father get ripped away from me for a second time, except for now he left with a scream of my name instead of an unearthly smile. I hadn’t thought that it would upset me quite as much as it did to watch that sentient cart carry him away. When he came back upstairs, his touch on my shoulder was gentle, too gentle, and it only pissed me off.

                “You could have let me tell him goodbye!” I’d never gotten that chance, not as a child and not now. I’d never told him goodbye. I’d never told him that I loved him that last time. The fur on his cheek twitched as he flinched and started leading me away. “Where are you taking me now?” I knew the answer but I wanted to be difficult. I wanted to piss this Marcone off like I couldn’t do to the real one because I was upset and he’d done something awful but he’d pass it off as nothing like he always did, he’d make it seem small and I didn’t want that to happen because someone who could be saved, someone who was not innocent but didn’t deserve to die, had almost been sent to a grave because of him. I was stupid for going near him again and even more stupid for thinking that it would be okay if I only liked the fake Marcone, the Marcone in these dreams. I’d never like him in any incarnation, not now.

                “Your rooms,” he told me softly, his voice a familiar husk even like this.

                “Most people keep prisoners in prison.” He gave me a tiny smile for that, one that flashed his many teeth at me. It might’ve actually been a snarl, come to think of it.

                “Would you prefer to stay up here and freeze to death?”

                “That’s what you were going to let my father do.” He released a frustrated roar as we made our way down the stairs, and then plucked a candlestick from an alcove. I thought for a second that he was going to smash me over the head with it until I realized that it was the ‘special’ candlestick.

                “Will you stop being so damned stubborn and accept my kindness for what it is?” The candlestick made a mournful noise that I again could not hear because I am poor deaf Belle. The gargoyles and carvings showed bitter faces as I walked by them, nightmare faces I’d probably seen at least once before, but I ignored them and focused on Marcone’s back. The cloak looked natural on him; probably would do so even if he was human. My anger continued to twitch at my fingertips, but some of it began to fade as I heard a familiar voice whisper from the vicinity of the candlestick.

                “Speak to him,” said Thomas, and even if he hadn’t used the proper pronoun, something that only he and Marcone had been able to do, I’d have known it was him.

                “I hope that this place will eventually become a home to you. You may go wherever you wish here, except for the West Wing,” he told me, and it was obviously an effort to keep his voice level and smooth. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “And may I ask your name?” I swallowed.

                “Harry. And what’s in the West Wing?” I raised my eyebrows to add effect to the question and tapped my fingers against my bicep. He whipped around and came close to roaring again, but stopped short.

                “It’s forbidden, is that not enough? The reason why is none of your concern.” He whipped back around and his steps were stiff. When he spoke again his voice had softened in apology. I didn’t accept it, didn’t care that he felt it. I’d never thought him cruel before that day, before that bullet. I’d also never known how much my perception of him being cold but not cruel had allowed me to tolerate him, to be near him. My rational side kept trying to tell me that taking out this frustration on Dream Marcone wouldn’t do anything for me, but my irrational side, who was pretty much in control just then, couldn’t tell the difference. “My name is John, by the way.”

                “Good for you,” I grumbled as we walked up to a strangely clean, unmarred white door. He opened it and gave me a light shove to get me inside and again I heard Thomas the Mighty Candlestick whisper, this time about dinner. I really wished I could send Belle a hearing aide.

                “You may call on my servants to attend to your needs. I would also have you join me for dinner.” I had a nice, snarky response to that geared up, but he slammed the door closed and left before I could get it out. A small yell of frustration seeped from my lips before I could stop it, at which point I just whipped around and flopped onto the bed. A little bit of dust flew up from it when I did, but all in all it was soft and comfortable. I played the waiting game with the plot again and my annoyance, my anger, my frustration, continued to stew in me. Belle had been sad, devastated, by all of this. I was just pissed, pissed at both of the Marcones. The moonlight was bright in the window, which was probably the only good thing going on just then. Eventually I heard a knock at my door and when I got the answer I nearly laughed.

                “Kincaid. I brought tea.” Kincaid was… oh, Stars and Stones! Kincaid was the teapot! Kincaid was Mrs. Potts! Mrs. Jared Potts! I giggled like a toddler as I opened the door and feigned shock at the pot on the other side.

                “You’re a teapot.” I stepped backwards and really did stumble, although it was entirely because there was a crack in the floor that caught my shoe. I crashed into the wardrobe behind me, and it gave a rather annoyed gasp at apparently being awoken. The gasp sounded very much like Gard. I cleared my throat to hide more laughter.

                “Boorish oaf!” the Gardrobe said, her voice cool.

                “This seems like something that probably shouldn’t happen in a normal castle,” I said, and the little teacup in the floor finally spoke up.

                “I told you that she was quite aesthetically pleasing, father.” It was Ivy’s voice, directed at Kincaid, that came through the little cup’s mouth, and any residual anger I had melted away. I always had had a soft spot for her.     

                “Yeah, yeah, kid. Bring her the tea, don’t mess up the carpet.” An annoyed little girl sigh came through her mouth as she hopped over to me, and I was careful as I picked her up. The porcelain was cool in my hands despite the hot tea, and I took a tiny sip. She informed me that she was very ticklish. I laughed and Kincaid hopped over. He had pink and purple accents all over him, which is something I never thought I’d say, but that makes it no less hilarious. Gard moved awkwardly closer to the bed and she was smiling as well even though she was probably the type to never admit to something so idiotically human.

                “You are quite brave for such a clumsy thing,” she told me, and I laughed.

                “Nah, just stupid. Besides, he pissed me off.” Ivy leapt out of my hand and splattered a little bit of tea on the white of my apron and shirt. Kincaid snorted, which sounded kind of strange and undignified coming from a teapot. See, when the furniture starts talking I start getting a lot of Bob vibes, meaning there are things making noises and expressions that they should be totally incapable of making. I don’t think people realize how weird fairytales are until they live through one of the stupid things.

                “Cute,” he told me, “Come on, Ivy. We’ve got to get ready for dinner.” That seemed to make Gard come to a realization, and she had opened up her doors by the time Kincaid and Ivy closed mine. Again, never thought I’d say that.

                “This will serve you well for dinner with the Master,” she said, and she’d pulled out what was actually a very pretty purple dress with a long flowing skirt and bows in good places and equally flowing sleeves. The petticoats underneath it would also probably make it pretty flouncy. No, I’m not spending a pointless number of words on the description of that dress, what are you talking about? It’s not like I want to wear the stupid thing. It’s not that pretty; I’m mostly sure that no dress is that pretty. I shook my head.

                “Not going.” She raised the wardrobe’s equivalent of an eyebrow.

                “The Master has asked it of you. I would suggest that you listen to him.” She brandished the dress at me as if it were her hammer. I took a step back from it, just in case, and my door opened again. A clock with a suspiciously red shine to its wood came into my room and stared at me.

                “It’s time for dinner.” Hendricks’ voice was deadpan as always. “Hey, Gard,” he said, and never mind, there was some emotion. I actually saw Gard smile.

                “Nathan. I have told you that you may call me Sigrun.” Well, if Wonderland hadn’t proved it, this certainly had. Now, however, wasn’t the time to marvel at the relationship between the Valkyrie and the Guard Dog, confusing though it be.

                “Uh? Yeah, I already told Gard I wasn’t going, so you can go tell Marcone to shove it up his ass.” Hendricks blinked slowly.

                “Your funeral.” And then he left, just like that. Wasn’t he supposed to be worried about becoming human again or something? Anyway, a whole five minutes passed before I heard banging on my door.

                “I told you to come down for dinner!” Marcone snarled at me, louder than I’d ever heard him. I yawned and reclined on the bed even as my stomach growled its protests at me.

                “Did you? I must not have heard,” I hollered back, and Gard stared at me with an almost angry look in her eyes.

                “You’ve heard now! Come out or you’ll no longer have a door.” I crossed my arms and kicked up my feet.

                “I’m indecent! You wouldn’t dare intrude upon a lady when she’s indecent, would you?” He seemed to be about to say something else, I could hear the beginnings of a word rumbling upon his lips, but then I heard Thomas and Hendricks speaking again.

                “You’ve never seduced anyone in your life, have you?”

                “Be a gentleman, Master.” I’d never thought I’d actually hear Thomas and Hendricks agreeing on anything, ever, or really I guess I never thought that they’d be in the same room long enough to agree or disagree, but maybe they did serve similar roles. I’d always guessed that maybe Hendricks was like a brother to Marcone in the same way that Thomas was a brother to me. They probably would have a decent amount in common, now that I thought about it.

                “He’s being frustrating!” Marcone replied to that advice, and yeah, I was. I wasn’t going to be ashamed of something I was doing on purpose.

                “He was perfectly polite to Ivy and I,” Kincaid said, something of a smug, superior edge to his voice that I recognized. “Might’ve been because we were polite to him.” I heard Marcone take in a deep, shuddering breath, heard him regaining a touch of his usual control.

                “Will you please come out and have dinner with me?” I yawned again.

                “I don’t feel like it. Maybe you should try making an appointment next time.” His fists crashed against the door hard enough to make it rattle and I had the vague worry that he really would break it down.

                “It you refuse to come out and eat with me then you will not eat.” And then he was gone, then it was silent. I wished he’d come back so I could scream at him. Moments passed, and then I heard Hendricks, his voice something close to worried, speak.

                “Guard the door, Thomas. Tell me if she tried to come out; I need to go check on Master.”

                “Of course,” Thomas said, sounding not nearly as worried, but then he had never liked Marcone all that much. I hadn’t ever believed him to be as bad as Thomas said before, but that look in his eyes… there had been malice in them. He’d been angry at the Warlock, angry for nothing; he’d wanted to kill him. He’d wanted him dead. I’d never seen a bullet tear through human flesh and I didn’t like the sight of it. That hadn’t been the first time Marcone had seen it. I gritted my teeth and kept up my nice, relaxed pose on the bed. That was when Gard spoke.

                “The Master is not so bad as you seem to think.”

                “Yes he is.”

                “You judge him before you know him, girl. He is simply different, can you not see that? Different, and lonely. I should think that you’d be able to relate to that.” The words cut at me and helped me realize that whoever gave me these dreams knew me, knew who I was. They fit in the dream’s context, yeah, but only barely, and I could almost feel the deeper meaning, the meaning relating to my real life.

                “I don’t want to know him. I want nothing more to do with a… a monster like him.” Yeah. A monster, that’s what he was. Maybe not in this dream, but in real life… he was.

                “Then you are not so good as I’d thought you to be. You deny one of your ilk, foolish one.” I heaved a sigh and shut my eyes.

                “He’s not like me. We might be similar in some respects, but he’s not like me. Besides, you’re my wardrobe. Stop giving me relationship advice.” She went silent and I almost missed the conversation, but thankfully I wasn’t quite that desperate to fill the quiet yet.

* * *

 

                I heard my brother being a pervert with Justine outside my door about an hour later, and I think I envy Belle’s deafness now. I mean, have you ever caught a glimpse of a candlestick and a fucking _feather duster_ making out before? I have, now. I mean, he stopped as soon as he realized I was coming out, but still. It was pretty terrible. He chased after me as I made my way downstairs. I heard mumbled conversation in the kitchen as I walked in, but I only heard something about stubborn from Hendricks and something about temper from Kincaid before I came inside and they went silent. A suspiciously blonde stove glowered at me from the corner of the room and damn it Murphy was a stove. A giant footrest that had Mouse’s huff ran passed me and crashed into my legs as it did so, nearly making me tumble. Hendricks chose that moment to introduce himself, but Thomas was quick to steal his thunder and grab my hand.

                “So pretty! If only I were the master, eh?” he said, and I wondered how many universes I would go to before my brother stopped flirting with me. It was getting weird. Not as weird as the idea of myself being related to a candlestick, but still pretty high up there. I tiny droplet of melted wax slid from his hand-candle and burned me. I jerked but didn’t make a noise, since I accidentally burned myself on my own candles constantly.

                “Master has requested,” Hendricks paused to shove Thomas out of the way, “that we do anything we can to make you comfortable, so do you want anything?”

                “I’m hungry,” I said, and I was. Surprisingly enough, it was Kincaid who was the first to start getting Murphy to cook for me.

                “Come on, cutie, she’s hungry! Chop chop,” he said, and I never knew a teapot could leer at a stove, but Kincaid managed it pretty well. Had Murphy and Kincaid been human I’m pretty sure that Kincaid would have mysteriously become a pretzel at that remark, but since they were both kitchen implements Kincaid just got a pot of boiling water flung at him. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how normal some of this stuff feels. Thomas was quick to hop on that wagon, though, despite the protests of the poor, loyal to a fault Hendricks. My happiness was quickly destroyed at the swelling of music that was beginning in the background, though, until I realized that I wasn’t going to be expected to sing this time.     

                Instead, Thomas serenaded me (how come he got a nice singing voice? I’m the one who can play guitar, it’s no fair) with a confusingly well-choreographed number involving way too many knives flying near my head and a perfect amount of embarrassment for Hendricks. Clocks can totally blush, by the way, and they have no problem doing so when you drag them under a spotlight. You should totally try it some time. Also, candlesticks can make very seductive expressions. I don’t suggest that you check my facts on that. Kincaid even got a solo, and I’m pretty sure he pelvic thrusted at least once, but he was a teapot, so it was hard to tell. Anyway, I guess I got dinner and a show that night, after which Thomas and Hendricks attempted to get me to go to bed, but I was nowhere near tired, so instead they tried to distract me with a library. They should have probably paid better attention to me, though, because no way was I following them. Mouse the footrest came along with me once I broke from them and crept up the stairs to the West Wing, though, so I felt a lot more comfortable about what I was doing. Mouse is a smart dog/footrest.

                As expected, the wing was in tatters. Statues lay broken around me, and the carpet was filthy. Soft curtains lay in torn hanks upon the floor. Especially ripped was a painting of Marcone himself on the back wall of the room, so destroyed that I hardly would have recognized it as him if I hadn’t known beforehand. The rose, though, was perfect when I saw it, a beautiful, clean red. I could feel the spell work on it from across the room. I reached towards it in a truly subconscious gesture, but my hand, my whole body, in fact, was slapped away as Marcone appeared. His claws slit my cheek when he hit me. I stood almost dizzily and let out a low hiss in his general direction.

                “Why are you here?” I didn’t answer immediately and he bellowed noisily. “Well?”

                “Because I wanted to be.” I’d lived my whole life standing up to things that were bigger than me. I wouldn’t stop when the bigger thing was Marcone.

                “I asked one thing of you, and that was that you not come here. You could not even follow a rule that simple? One request and you refuse it! I’ve never met a man so… so frustrating as you! So difficult! So impetuous! You don’t have to act like a disobedient, defiant child just because you do not like me! You could have ruined everything! Get out of my sight, my castle, immediately!” He was stalking towards me and something was dark in his money eyes, something angry, but also something… something hurt. His eyes were fixed on my cheek, on the blood, as if it was unbelievable. I turned tail and ran, I can admit that, but it was only because the story said I had to. It was getting oddly easier, though, oddly more natural, to follow the tales to their conclusion. I ran out of the castle, leapt onto my horse, and began riding off, side saddle again. The bounce was still uncomfortable and still felt unsafe. Hendricks and Thomas had watched me go with pain in their eyes. Even though I knew they were coming, the wolves managed to surprise me. Even as one of them knocked me from the horse and tore at my right arm I had the thought that the snow whipping at my face had hurt more.

                Marcone appeared shortly after, right on schedule, and as I lay there in the snow I realized something; I recognized the look in his eyes now, that cold rage. I’d seen it in the real world moments before this dream. He threw a wolf hard against a tree and there was that cruelty. He didn’t care if these wolves lived or died. He was… oh, no. No, no, no, nuh uh, no. He was being pragmatic. This cruelty wasn’t for cruelty’s sake, it was… no. He was being cruel not out of a lack of care towards these wolves (towards that Warlock) but out of care for… for me. He’d been worried that I’d get eaten (that I’d get bled) and he had wanted to save me. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, hadn’t considered that I could defend myself; he’d just had the kneejerk reaction of protect. One wolf tore into his flesh and the blood poured scarlet. He was still angry and he was angry because I’d been hurt and he hadn’t been able to stop it. I’d been cut. I’d bled. He… both of them, the real and the dream, worried over me, cared about me. I didn’t like the realization. It’s funny what you realize when you watch someone get hurt for you. He threw another wolf and sent the rest running before he collapsed. I wanted to stay angry but I couldn’t. He’d just saved my life. Maybe he’d saved it from that Warlock too.

                I had to admit again that of all the things he was, evil wasn’t one of them. He hadn’t taken that shot just to take it, just to see someone die, he’d done it to help me. He’d thought he had to, just like he’d thought he had to kill those wolves. It took a few tries, but I finally managed to heft his unconscious body up onto my horse and walk him back to the castle. All of the furniture looked unspeakably grateful as I carried him into a study and settled him into a chair. He was awake by the time I returned with a bucket of hot water and a clean cloth. He seemed to know what I was planning, though, because he was refusing to allow me to touch him.

                “Hell’s Bells, hold still! I’m trying to help you!” I finally managed to dab the worst of the wounds and his yell reverberated around the room. His closest pieces of furniture, the ones I’d connected with my friends, took a step back.

                “That hurts, damn it!” I heaved a frustrated sigh and clenched my hands around his fuzzy arm. He didn’t relax it.

                “Then quit moving so I can clean the damn thing! If you stop twitching for five minutes I can get it done and you won’t have to deal with it anymore.”

                “Perhaps if you had stayed in the castle we would not be having this problem!”

                “You told me to go, bastard! Why don’t you make up your fucking mind?” I was having no problem staying in my role because even if I understood, now, it didn’t mean I liked it. He was still… honestly I thought that I liked him better when he was himself rather than when he couldn’t control himself, when he was like this. He wasn’t… damn it, he was no beast. He was no monster. I took a deep breath and relaxed a little. His arm did too, and he finally allowed me to dab at the wound even though he winced and flinched periodically as I wiped away the dirt and blood.

                “I’m sorry.” I could hardly hear the words, but they were there. I offered a thin half smile.

                “Yeah? I think I am too.” We were silent for a few minutes after that, but then I spoke up again. “Thank you, by the way, for saving my ass back there.” Both times, in this world and the other. He seemed surprised and I couldn’t recall having ever thanked him for anything before.

                “You’re welcome,” he finally said, and I smiled again. He did too. I hated him for making me feel like this, like we could be friends (more) one day. It made me sick. When we stood to go to bed that night he wrapped me in a hug and I… I returned it. He let me go and disappeared, after which I went to my room and proved yet again that I sleep way better when I’m already asleep.

* * *

 

                I ate with him the next morning and then walked outside to walk the horse. Mouse was out there too, and even as a piece of furniture he loved the snow. His bark was loud enough to shake some from the trees to hit my head and I hugged him just like I would the real one. He was almost as small like this as he had been as a puppy and it brought back welcome memories. I could see Marcone on the balcony, one paw on his bandaged arm, and he was staring thoughtfully down at me, as if I were something interesting, something to be studied, something to understand. He seemed to be talking to Hendricks and Thomas, so I stepped a little closer and Listened. It was nice to know that I retained that skill, at least.

                “I’d like to do something for him,” he said, and Hendricks appeared a little confused.

                “Him? She’s a… whatever. You could try flowers, or chocolates. Gifts usually work well.” That was when Thomas spoke up.

                “No, no, he’s too… special, for that. Don’t treat him like just another person, not if you want his acknowledgement. You have to do something amazing, something just as bold as he is! Make a statement!” Marcone nodded thoughtfully.

                “A statement, yes. A statement.” I saw the realization dawn on this face, and he bared his enormous teeth in what passed for a smile. Shortly after he came outside and led me back into the castle. I knew what he was taking me to see, I knew the story, but it still unnerved me when he had me close my eyes. I don’t like not seeing what’s going on around me. I don’t like being unaware, I don’t like surprises. I like knowing exactly what’s going to happen and I like seeing it happen because that means I can do something about it, I can affect it. He kept his hands on me, though, to keep me steady and keep me calm. I don’t know why his touch would keep me calm when his claws could be felt through the sleeves of my dress but it did. His voice was soft and I could almost imagine for a moment that all this was real, that this was actually Marcone instead of a dream.

                He stopped me in the center of the room and I felt light pierce my closed eyelids. His voice was full of almost childlike excitement when he had me open my eyes. I wondered if this was what he was really like when he wasn’t hiding behind his iron walls, his controlled speech and his blocked eyes. It couldn’t be, though; this was just what I imagined he’d be like, just a construct of my own imagination I’d built because I’d wanted to be angry with him, and also apparently wanted to heal that anger. The whole story was just my way of reconciling what I’d seen, of understanding, and maybe of kind of forgiving so that I could continue working with him. It was just my way of making myself remember that he wasn’t actually a beast despite how he could come across. And no, I don’t have a nice neat explanation like that for the other dreams, so don’t ask.

              This is the only one I’m even considering taking credit for anyway; I mean, other than the singing there was no evidence of the normal bullshit my malevolent dream entity pulled. I mean, my dress hadn’t got ripped off of me a single time! I opened my eyes as he asked and found myself surrounded by books. I was, admittedly, kind of impressed, and my smile was involuntary where it spread across my lips. I really hadn’t seen so many books in one place before, and it was actually kind of impressive.

              “Hell’s Bells,” I managed, and he laughed, low and rumbling, a smug look I recognized passing over his features. For a moment all the fur and the twisted features melted away and I saw the man underneath, the man I knew, self-satisfied and proud.

              “You like it,” he said, and I had to nod because I did. I’d always loved books, but I’d never had the money to buy all the ones I wanted. Looking around I saw titles I knew, titles I’d wanted but never read, titles I owned, and a few that seemed cool even though I’d never heard of them. A library of my own had kind of been the only selfish, pointless thing I’d ever dreamed of having, but the closest I’d ever gotten was my bookshelf at home and that had almost as many knick knacks on it as books.

              “Yeah.”

              “It’s yours, then. Anything you want, Harry, I’ll give it to you so long as it’s mine to give.” Gooseflesh ran up my arms and it felt real again, it felt like a front. I was starting to get suspicious of all of this; too much of the real world was bleeding over. I honestly worried a little about that. Still, it reaffirmed what I’d thought earlier, that Marcone cared about me in his own twisted way, even if it was probably only as a business investment. I thought about my bad nights, nights where I’d considered throwing everything away and taking his offers, thought about how he certainly wasn’t my worst option, thought about a lot in too little time. I’d never been willing to call Marcone, the real one, my friend, even though that’s kind of what he was. The dream one, though, the dream one had been a set piece, a figurehead maybe, for all the things I wanted but couldn’t have. I’d thought of that one as a friend and more. It wasn’t real, though. Marcone could be my friend. I’d give that much up. He could be my friend but nothing more.

              “I know,” I whispered, and after that we ate. I got in a few laughs at him attempting to be all proper for me even though my method of eating was pretty much just stabbing at shit until I got it in my mouth. If a giant fuzzy thing could have blushed, he’d have been bright red every time I snickered. Ivy, who sat beside Kincaid on the middle of the table, seemed to find it pretty funny too. We went outside after that and once more the music started to swell. Oh, hell. This was the romantic duet. Fuck. I didn’t want to. The birds seemed to think I wanted to feed them, but that was stupid. Why did the birds who lived outside of an enchanted castle expect to be fed by humans? That was just stupid. Disney is idiotic and there’s a decent chance that I hate it. The music seemed to form an almost physical weight upon me until I finally gave up and started to sing. “I don’t know why, but I think that now I sort of like this guuuuy! He’s still a dick, he’s such an ass, but now I think that I might see something iiiiinsiiiiiiiiiiiiide! I wonder why I never noticed it befoooore.” Marcone looked very confused by my crooning and was gazing suspiciously at the sky.

              Oh, Stones. He must have heard it. He must have heard the strange, ephemeral music that just sort of follows me around in this particular Disney universe. He appeared to be preparing to ask me about it, likely because I’d probably just made his ears bleed, but then he just gave up and joined in. His voice also sounded unfairly good, but then I’d always sort of figured he’d have a good singing voice. I hadn’t thought it would be quite as good as it was though. He and Thomas could’ve started a band. Hell, maybe I should ask and see if that was something conceivable. Maybe they’d even let me play guitar for them if I promised to never ever open my mouth on stage!

              “He’s so amazing, so beautiful. I never thought there’d be a chance he’d fall for me. I am a beast, I know it’s true. And yet he doesn’t cringe away when I am near. Maybe I’ve shown him what he’s never seen before.” I’ll admit that I might’ve gotten a little into it after that. I don’t know why, but I did. Shut up, I just had the music in my soul or something stupid like that.

              “This isn’t me, this cannot be. It’s not my place to pal around with dicks like hiiiim! I shouldn’t know him, I shouldn’t see, but now I think that maybe something here could be…” Could be something. I couldn’t even say it, couldn’t even think it. It could be something, all of this. Not for the first time I wished that this dream Marcone could be the real one. I wished that I was allowed to… to… yeah. I’m going to guess that you know what I mean and not say it.

              The song continued on with all the rest of the furniture in different places around the house, and even though I couldn’t always hear them singing I knew someone was because the ethereal music was still going on. It didn’t really seem to matter, though, because goddamn it I was having a snowball fight with Marcone and we were laughing like children. If this was real, I thought, if we’d known each other in some other circumstances, I could see myself loving him. Now, though, in our real world, I could barely manage to envision us as friends. It’d have to be good enough.

              Besides, I didn’t have many people willing to just sit around and read with me, and he looked unduly fascinated by me when I read stories about warriors triumphing over evil and getting the princess, so I couldn’t really call him a bad companion.

               Anyway, after it started getting dark I ended up going back to my room, at which point Gard immediately moved herself in front of the doorway. I stared at her. She stared back. The make-up on the dresser twitched excitedly. No. This could not be. Gard’s smile was confusingly evil.

               “It is time to get you ready,” she said, and it was surprisingly menacing. I had no idea what she was planning to do, but whatever it was I assumed I wouldn’t like it. The Giant Fluffy Yellow Dress from Hell was suddenly brandished at me just like the dinner dress from a few days before. My chair suddenly became very insistent that I not get up, and even though I jerked and thrashed around relatively ineffectually, Gard managed to get me in the dress. The chair, still holding me still, walked me over to the dresser, at which point the make-up and hair care equipment came to life and started attacking me. I’d never worn lipstick before that day. I hoped I never would again because that shit is uncomfortable. Also, you know how romantic that scene where Belle took the beast’s arm was? Yeah, well, it stops being so romantic when you trip on the stairs on the way down and end up staring at your date’s feet for five minutes before they finally manage to haul your pathetic ass back upright. Not that that’s what happened to me, but I just wanted to tell you all that, just in case you ever happen to find yourself in a situation where it becomes applicable.

                Still, if something so terrible does happen to you, try to have a teapot with a Kincaid voice around to sing Tale as Old as Time for you afterwards. It makes it a lot better. If you can avoid the teapot emphasizing the ‘barely even friends, then somebody bends’ part and giving you a really stern look, please do so.

                He led me into the ballroom, and as he settled on hand on my waist (it was large enough to span up to my back, across my shoulder blades) I was aware that he was not the shy beast, he was the ever sure of himself Marcone. We danced to Kincaid’s voice, sweeping across the floor in familiarly unfamiliar steps, and I remained uncomfortably aware of how well the words to the song really could fit the two of us. His smile was annoyingly reassuring as the song came to a close and he led me outside.

                “Have I made you happy?” He didn’t beat around the bush in any universe. He asked the question as if it were the most important in the world, as if the answer would make or break him. I offered a small smile and recalled the laughter I’d shared with him, the smiles and the books and the thoughts. Nothing bad would happen if I told the truth here, there’d be no consequences.

                “Yes. But I’d like… I want to see my dad again.” This him would do anything to make me happy, I knew that, and continued to know it as he lead me back up to the West Wing and pressed a silver mirror into my hands.

                “There. It will show you anything. Please, use it as you will.” I thought of all I could ask it, all I could see, before I finally decide it to use it how the story commanded. I saw my dad stumbling pathetically through the woods, coughing and sneezing, and Marcone saw it too. I didn’t even have to speak before he knew what to say. “Go to him, Harry. He… more than me, he needs you.” I gaped, then I smiled and hugged him tightly.  

                “Thank you, John.” He tensed and I stepped back.

                “Leave before I change my mind; keep that mirror, by the way. I should like to think that you could use it to remember me if you chose.” There wasn’t any more I could say to him, not then, so I turned and ran up to my bedroom. I changed back into my horse riding dress and fled, knowing in the back of my mind that I had a stowaway in the saddle bag but too set on finding my dad to really care about how that tied into the plot. I heard Marcone’s mournful howl rend the air behind me.

When I finally found my father he was unconscious and frozen, but I managed to get him onto the horse and get him home again before he was further injured. I noted but did nothing about the very Cowl-shaped snowman by my door. When my dad awoke, he did it with a smile.

                “Harry?” he sounded confused and I hushed him. Once more I felt tears beading in my eyes but I blinked them back.

                “Yeah, I’m here. Don’t move too much.” He ignored me and instead lunged up to wrap his arms tightly around me. I returned the grip and it felt like home. We didn’t speak; we didn’t need to. Family can do that to you. A lot happened all at once, after that; Ivy tumbled from the saddlebag alongside the mirror, my dad asked about how I’d escaped, and I heard distant footsteps coming closer.

                “He’s not as bad as he seemed, dad,” I told him as I picked Ivy up from the floor and carried her over to the bed with us.

                “If you believe that then I may only ascertain that you left because you no longer care for the rest of us,” Ivy said, and that little girl voice speaking like that just made me feel a little cold. She was so sweet, such a good kid, and she didn’t… so much knowledge wasn’t meant to be forced onto someone so small. She didn’t deserve to suffer that. I gave her a small, sad smile.

                “I’d never stop caring for you, or anyone in the castle, Ivy. Not even Marcone, much as I hate to admit it. I just-“ I was interrupted by the footsteps reaching the door and banging on it. I opened up the door and saw Mab on the other side. I cringed; I’d been seeing far too much of her lately. She only offered me a cold smile.

                “Pretty little Belle,” she murmured, “I’ve come to fetch the magician, your father.” I glanced passed her shoulder and saw a cart marked “Asylum” and that was when all hell broke loose. Cowl started inciting the crowd with the words about the beast my dad had apparently spoken, his tongue vicious and too sane, and when my father himself came outside he only reaffirmed the crowd’s thoughts on his relative sanity. The whole mob wanted him committed. I was actively against that, for obvious reasons, but I couldn’t stop the men that began dragging him away. Ferrovax clapped me on the shoulder and offered me a way out.

                “I can stop this, honey, and all it’ll take is a yes. All you must do is marry me, sweet.” His breath smelled like smoke and I tore away from him, ran inside and grabbed the mirror. I held it close to my face and hated the betrayal I was about to commit, but my father… I couldn’t protect him in life, so I’d damn sure protect him now. Marcone was strong; he could protect himself, and I’d be around to help him shortly.  

                “Show me Marcone!” I cried, and there he was, still crying out sadly, his teeth especially sharp looking in the low light. A collective gasp ran through the crowd and I heard them question if he was dangerous.

                “He’s not, not really. He’s a… he’s not good, but he wouldn’t hurt someone undeserving. Which, he’s got some weird ideas about what makes someone deserving, but he’s consistent, at least. He’s… he’s my friend,” I mumbled, and felt Ferrovax’s hands on me, thick and almost painful.

                “I’d almost say you had _feelings_ for that monster,” he hissed, and I jerked away from him. I didn’t want him to touch me and he’d obviously grown painfully aware of that fact. A sudden rage filled his too-pretty face, a vengeful, jealous rage, and he snatched the mirror from my hand. He wanted to hurt me, now; he wanted to make it so I had no option but him. He called me crazy, probably for more than one reason. Dragons are good storytellers, or so I’ve always heard, and the tale he weaved about the monstrous beast in the nearby castle (how did all these villagers miss that thing anyway? I’d always wondered) and how it would eat their children and destroy their homes did little to disprove that. He even turned it into a musical number, and said musical number did little to disprove the other rumor that the voice of a dragon was as melodious as that of a siren. Apparently everyone but me can sing perfectly in these dreams. I tried to shut him up but the mob was on his side and they were angry. He threw my father and me into the cellar and rode off. I felt helpless even though I knew everything would turn out fine because this was a dream and I knew the story.

                I played the waiting game then and it was more torturous than it had ever been in one of these dreams even though it was certainly not dull. Tension had me strung tight as a bowstring and I paced even though my dad tried to quiet me. I couldn’t escape the thought that this would be the dream that changed, this would be the dream that changed the story, that Marcone would really die. And then Ivy attacked the cellar door with a barrage of my father’s defective smoke bombs until it broke down. I wished she was human then so I could hug her, but as it stood I just pressed a tiny kiss to what I figured was her cheek, slid her back safely into a saddlebag, and rode off towards the castle. My father yelled for me, but I couldn’t let this be the dream that changed. Not when I’d grown to love the Beast, the Marcone in my dreams, the Marcone that would not, could not, ever be real. 

* * *

 

                When I rode up to the castle I saw Marcone on a ledge, an arrow in his shoulder, and he was giving up. That much was obvious. Ferrovax stood over him wickedly, prepared to deal the final blow. I screamed up as loudly as I could, loudly enough that my voice cracked and nearly broke.

                “Damn it Ferrovax, I’m going to kick your ass for this! Get the fuck up, John! Get up and fight, damn you!” I urged the horse up to the castle door faster, jumped from its back, and ran inside. I just barely caught sight of John slowly lurching up to his feet to face Ferrovax. The only thought in my head was remembering how to get upstairs, how to reach where they’d been. I didn’t even stop to stare at my brother the candlestick bouncing on some unconscious guy’s belly, Justine the feather duster smiling beside him, nor even Hendricks the clock chasing Cowl, his sword aimed threateningly at Cowl’s ass. My feet pounded up the stairs as I took them two at a time, and I nearly fell more than once, but it wasn’t important. My breath was coming in wet, heavy gasps by the time I finally got to a place where I could see them, and probably reach them. I heard Ferrovax, a piece of the castle’s decorative stonework gripped in his hand like a club, yelling.

                “Did you love her? How _precious,_ the beast in love with the beauty! Did you think she’d ever want you, a monster? Ha! She has _me,_ ” he cried, and Marcone jumped from some shadows to engage him again. He was injured, though, and Ferrovax was strong, so the fight was close. Then, though, Ferrovax spoke again. “Harry, our town’s Belle, is mine!” Marcone lunged forward and took him by the neck, pure unfiltered anger obvious on his face. He held Ferrovax’s squirming body over the castle ledge and I heard him begging. I knew it was false, though, I knew he would never stoop so low as to beg seriously. It was a ploy; dragons were fond of them. At that moment, though, John turned slightly and saw me. A certain look filled his eyes, and I knew something suddenly. He didn’t want to upset me. He didn’t want me to think him a monster. He stepped back and placed Ferrovax on the wet stone. I heard him hiss something, probably some variation on “leave”, before he turned to face me again.

                I held out a hand and he climbed up to reach me, to hold me, to smile at me. I saw Ferrovax coming with the knife before he did but I couldn’t warn him quickly enough. The knife sunk into his side and he fell. Ferrovax did too, although he fell a lot farther because I caught John and pulled him up onto the balcony with me. Ferrovax had no such luck. Marcone’s breathing was shallow and I knew that this wouldn’t be the end; I knew the happy ending was coming, but that didn’t stop the few tears that dripped from my eyes, blended with the rain.

                “You came back for me,” he whispered, “You didn’t leave me.” I laughed but it sounded bad even to my own ears.

                “How could I, bastard? You’re too damned likeable,” I whispered, and felt my head descend to his chest. One giant paw reached up to touch my head, tangle in my hair.

                “I love you, Harry.” I coughed.

                “Don’t die, John, don’t. Not now. Not… I love you too,” I murmured. He let out a breathy, weak laugh.

                “Perhaps its better this way, then. Someone like you… you were never meant to love a man… a beast… like me.” I reached up and swung my hand wildly, succeeded in slapping him, and growled.

                “Don’t talk like that. You’re not allowed to leave me. Not like…” Most people. He wasn’t most people, he never had been, not this dream him. He had to stay with me because I wanted him to and it was my dream so I could damn well be as selfish as I wanted. He tried to say something else but I couldn’t make it out. His breath grew steadily weaker until it just wasn’t there. I felt like screaming. And then, then came the light. It was brilliant, almost impossible to look at, and it surrounded him like so much sunlight. It changed him. It changed him into the man I knew, the man I recognized, John Marcone in a tattered, bloody shirt and a torn cloak. He stared down at his hands as if he didn’t recognize them, his face drawn and confused, and then he turned his gaze to me.

                “Harry… Harry, I’m human again! Look at me! It’s me!” And then I had arms around me, I was being swung around, we were laughing, we were happy to be alive and it felt like real life again until the fireworks started, until all the furniture I’d met, all the furniture with voices I knew, came running out and became human too as the light hit them. Ivy was on Mouse’s back and Kincaid grinned down at her, a love he always hated to admit to filling his eyes at the sight of her. Thomas had an arm around Justine just as Gard had an arm around Hendricks, and suddenly Kincaid had jerked Murphy over to him only to get slapped with not quite as much heat as a lot of other people would’ve gotten. I knew the two of them weren’t serious about each other and I didn’t know if they’d ever see each other as anything but casual, but it was still a nice sight that made me smile. It felt almost like we were all a family, but that was just ridiculous. The world around me seemed to fade as John pressed a sweet, small kiss to my lips and I wished that he was real, that I could love the real him as well, but that was ridiculous too.

* * *

 

                The next thing I knew, I was waking up and I heard Marcone doing the same beside me. My eyes peeled open stickily, heavily, and I saw the Warlock bound up in pale blue. Gard stood before him and I saw Hendricks’ boots beside my head, behind her. She was growling, demanding to know what was wrong with us, but the Warlock stayed silent. I stuttered clumsily up to my feet while Marcone flowed up to his. Gard went silent and turned to us, her anger melting into blank unconcern.

                “You are both well?” she finally asked, and I nodded, a laugh on my lips although I felt something warm on my stomach.

                “I’m alright. I think I tore my stitches, though, so I should probably deal with that.” It was at that moment that everyone, including me, looked down at my stomach and saw the red flower blooming there. I blinked at it and felt myself stumble as I bled. I stumbled and Marcone caught me. My gasp fell out unannounced and his arms wrapped tightly around my chest to keep me upright. I had no idea how long the bullet wound had been bleeding, but I assumed it had been a decent amount of time from how dizzy I felt.

                “Call a doctor,” Marcone ordered, and Hendricks started doing just that even though I insisted that I was fine, that I just needed to get to Butters. “He’s a coroner, Harry; I’d prefer taking you to a doctor that works on living people. You won’t have to go to a hospital. He’ll make a house call,” Marcone said, sparing a sharp glance to Hendricks, who nodded, before he led me towards the door. “Ms. Gard, deal with him. Don’t kill him.” She looked vaguely confused by that, although she didn’t question it, and then we were outside in the cool air. My stomach hurt. His touch was as gentle as his dream self’s and as I got dizzier I got stupider. I leaned my head down to prop on his shoulder and we got into his car. I moved my head to his chest and he rubbed soft circles into my back, his other hand pressing hard against my stomach to help staunch the blood as Hendricks drove down the highway at breakneck, speed-limit-destroying speeds.

                I drifted in and out of consciousness, heard bits and pieces of conversations I didn’t understand, felt my shirt get removed once and something like a bandage get tied around me, but I didn’t get back to full consciousness until some point after the doctor left and I’d been put in a soft twin bed that most definitely wasn’t mine because it wasn’t too short. Marcone was sitting beside me when I awoke, his hand clutching mine and his face lined with worry, at least until he realized I was awake, at which point he went carefully blank. He dropped my hand.

                “Are you feeling better?” he asked me, and I looked down at my stomach, wrapped tight with new, clean white bandages. I nodded.

                “Yeah. Uh, thanks for that.” He smiled.

                “You shouldn’t have been working with an injury like that. When were you shot?”

                “A couple of weeks ago, it was nothing. I got the guy who did it and his little hellbeast too. Besides, I can’t just take time off, you know; the various assholes who want to make their move in this particular city don’t exactly care if I’ve got stitches.” He sighed and settled his hand thoughtlessly on my belly.

                “Of course, my apologies. Now, it’s still quite dark outside. Won’t you go back to sleep? I swear I’ll do nothing to you, and you may leave in the morning.” I was still tired. I blinked slowly and nodded, my mind quickly drifting away. I felt lips on the back of my hand before fingers surrounded it again, and another kiss landed on my cheek. Another on the corner of my mouth. One more on my lips, hardly a kiss at all, more a quick breath of pressure and affection. I could hardly believe the sensation; wasn’t I just a business investment? This didn’t make sense. I was too far gone to think about it. “I’m such a fool,” I was pretty sure I heard him whisper, “even more of one than you. After all, who could ever love a beast? Certainly not the story’s hero, the story’s beauty.” I had to have misheard him, I knew that, but I was sound asleep again before I got much further on that train of thought. Thankfully, I didn’t dream.  

 


End file.
